The Beast You've Made Of Me
by Unveiled Creativity
Summary: AU. Dark Romance/Fairytale. For days after, I couldn't erase the wolf's image from my mind. The eyes were the hardest to forget. Blue like the coolest part of a flame and too expressive to be fully animal. Eyes which haunt me, even now.
1. Prologue

Prologue

_I saw my first wolf two months after Papa died. Mother might've been dead too, for all she did for us. She forced me to hunt for food. She didn't know Prim and I were starving. _

_I'd gone out that morning in my father's clothes, convinced dressing like him would make the task at hand less threatening. I hadn't yet fitted his hunting jacket to my frame, and the sleeves sagged past my fingers. I went into the woods alone, armed with the bow I'd only handled twice before, and waited in the oak tree Papa used to shoot from. It was my first hunt without him. _

_ I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to the rustle of leaves beneath me and instinctively lifted Papa's bow, struggling with the arrow between my fingers. I was glad in that moment to have the height advantage, though I almost fell from my perch when I saw it. The wolf must have heard me gasp because it tilted its shaggy head skyward. It was exactly like the pictures I'd seen in storybooks: large, muscular body, elongated white snout, grayish black fur. But this one was injured. It favored its back left leg, the paw curled up off the ground. Its eyes were startling, focused solely on me. Neither of us moved. I held my breath.  
_

_ "Strike true," Papa's words echoed inside me. But what would I do with a dead wolf? I wasn't my father. I imagined its pelt for someone's coat and shivered. How could I kill such a beautiful creature? _

_A cold breeze weaved its way down the back of my neck, and the wolf's nostrils twitched. Just then, a shower of golden and crimson leaves spiraled around us, masking the wolf. The spell was broken. I let the arrow I'd gripped so tightly slip from my fingers and land at the base of the tree. The wolf tensed at its descent, the scruff around its neck bristled. In a moment, the animal was halfway through a collection of ferns. _

"_Wait," I called out on an exhale. I didn't expect it to turn, furry ears pricked in my direction. "Wait," I said again, but didn't know how to continue. The wolf craned its head to howl a whimper and disappeared into the brush. _

_For days after, I couldn't erase its image from my mind. The eyes were hardest to forget. Blue like the coolest part of a flame and too expressive to be fully animal. _

Eyes which haunt me, even now.


	2. The Watcher

**A/N**: Thank you for all the lovely feedback! After much consideration, I reworked the beginning of this story in a major way. Please note the added prologue. This first chapter isn't like the original one I posted. I hope you still enjoy it!

Chapter 1

_The Watcher_

Sunlight filters through the trees above me, casting the path ahead in a golden haze. This has been my routine every Sunday since that morning four years ago. I walk slowly, running my hands across ancient looming trunks. Mother thinks I'm collecting herbs for the apothecary, and I will, when I go back.

"Don't stray too far" was her usual warning during breakfast earlier. Prim's ears perked when she heard, but I told her to stay home, help Mother, play with her friends. Prim was the only one I'd told about my sighting. She's still very much rooted in Papa's fairy stories to believe in whatever magic the forest might have. She also has a habit of following me, mostly to the meadow which borders the east side of Seam and the section of woods I saw my wolf in. The meadow is up a hill and behind the schoolhouse, so the location is empty for the most part. If anyone sees me, they'll assume I'm visiting my classroom. Prim usually stays just outside the line of trees, promising me a nice picnic upon my return, but I worry about her being alone like she worries about me, so my visits to the forest are few and far between.

When Papa was alive, Mother banned me from the woods, except if I went with him on one of his hunts. Even then, it took a considerable amount of coaxing to accompany him. Superstition held sway over Mother, as it did most townsfolk, though she's not as stubborn as she used to be.

Truth is no one sets foot here unless it's absolutely necessary. People stay within Seam's limits, a healthy fear of the world beyond drilled into them since birth. Some people were immune, like Papa and our family friend Mr. Hawthorne. They opted to hunt after mining became too dangerous. Mother had also just given birth to me, and she wanted a father for her child. I doubt I would have known Papa very long if he continued working in the mine. It's ironic that he ended up dying from the very thing he tried to escape.

That was a terrible year. Mother felt so guilty about Papa's death, not being able to help him the way she wanted to, that she completely shut down. The apothecary, our home, herself. Other people in town were falling sick, but she was too wrapped up in her grief to heal anyone else. I don't think she came out of her coma until she saw Prim crying and vomiting while I tried skinning and gutting a squirrel in the front yard. After that, she made sure I wouldn't have to hunt again. I haven't needed the bow in so long I forgot how to use it.

I stop in front of Papa's tree, in the spot where the wolf once stood. My scalp tingles at the memory. Perhaps today will be different. That's what I always tell myself. If I stay a few more minutes, my wolf will show up, and I'll have something else to memorize besides its eyes. Perhaps it'll allow me to jump down, touch the dense fur of its back.

"Why had it come so close to town?" I ask the trees. The woods closest to town are barren, save for the birds and squirrels. Maybe it was hungry, like Prim and I were. It probably smelled the Cartwrights' livestock. After I saw it, though, there were no reports of missing animals. So, if not to eat, why was it here? And why didn't it come back?

I imagine the look on my mother's face as I climb to the lowest branch to wait. The nooks in the bark tearing the hem of the dress she knit for me, the branches freeing wisps of hair from my braid. The schoolteacher's apprentice, acting like a wild child. I promised her I'd work in a safe, easy place, where the most I'd risk would be my thumb to a paper-cut.

She doesn't tell me, but I know she'd also like me married off soon, as most girls in town are at my age. She's hoping Gale Hawthorne will be the one to steal and tame my heart, my quintessential prince. I think she'd also like to mend the less-than-favorable reputation her mother-in-law, Nola Everdeen, cemented for her family long ago. Nola was deemed the town witch because she delivered one too many stillborn children during Seam's worst winter. Though Mother is in high demand, there remains, for some, an unspoken prejudice against the Everdeen family. They don't seek her healing hands unless they absolutely need them.

I know Gale likes me more than I think he should. He's tall, good-looking, charismatic, a carpenter. He's built many houses in Seam. Why he's interested in me I have no idea. I see myself in a few years, standing in the house he's made for us, a toddler in my arms, no doubt his child, another in my belly, the perfect housekeeper, wife, and mother. In that future, will I still long for the wolf? Will I still wake early on Sunday mornings to take a walk in the woods? I'm uncertain how much Gale will mind.

I shake the fantasy out of my head, laughing at myself. Me? Married and pregnant? I love my students, but I don't expect I'll have a child of my own. Not with Gale. That's the way things usually go here, though. Childhood friends grow up together, sometimes fall in love, wed young. We are poor, but more or less content. The town prides itself on being self-sufficient, living off the land and each other. Yet the threat's still there, surrounding us on all sides, keeping most from sleeping with both eyes shut.

I rummage through my dress pockets for the small satchel of grain Prim gave me. "For the wolf," she whispered, smiling so hopefully it hurt to leave her. I made her promise she wouldn't follow me. Before I left, I saw her playing tag on the road outside the house, she and the children vanishing in and out of the dust clouds their boots kicked up. I feel the same anxious rush I felt when I couldn't see her anymore, and I want to run home, make sure she's all right.

"Relax, Katniss," I say, untying the pouch and scattering the grains below. _She's fine, _I repeat. _She's fine. _The birds hush for a long moment, and I tense in my perch, expecting them to attack the newly-fallen food. Instead, I hear what sounds like thunder in the distance and a whistle, higher than any bird call, pierce the quiet. The rumbling startles a flock from a nearby tree. I slide down from the branch, stumbling for balance. Suddenly I can't breathe. The commotion nears.

Whistling, the mechanical roar of something big charging down the railroad. When I was very young and kept indoors, I thought a dragon was flying through town and stealing children for supper. That was the only logical explanation for the incredible noises which rocked our house. I know now that what's coming is infinitely worse.

I break into a run back home.

x

Though we take care of ourselves, we're still controlled by Seam's founder and mayor, Coriolanus Snow. I've never seen the man before, but I've seen what his power can do. I've watched my friends taken in the midst of hide and seek, loaded into the shiny gray train headed to Snow's estate. Delly. Madge. Papa told me the baker's infant son was reaped a few months before I was born. The baker's wife did not produce any other children after that; some said her womb was cursed. When Delly's father plotted to rebel, a pack of Seneca Crane's dogs attacked his chickens. Another year, the river carried animal entrails, polluting the water so no one could fish or drink. Seam was punished for its grief, so people learned to keep quiet. Rumors began to spread about spies ordered to watch us from the forest. We thought Snow had died or lost interest. For five years, nothing came down the railroad...until today.

I burst into the meadow. The track runs along the other side of town, too far for me to get there in enough time. I'll try anyway. For Prim. I hope she knew to run to Mother, take cover inside. Crane, a self-proclaimed "Peacekeeper," doesn't enter houses if no one's outside, but his dogs will. They are disgusting creatures with gangrene-colored skin and large claws which leave slits in the ground. The pupils of their eyes resemble snake eyes, thin and unmoving. When they got into the Cartwrights' pen, they didn't eat the chickens. They left bloody pulps instead, the feathers the only indication that they had once been animals.

I run past the school, sprinting down the hill and onto the main road stretching across town. People stand like statues outside their homes and businesses, craning their heads west. Mr. Mellark, the baker, pokes his gray head out the door, frowning. Everyone is so still and silent. I catch them turning their heads to watch me pass.

My chest hurts with every breath but I can't stop. I won't. I'm closer – I can see steam curling up ahead. A child screams. My pace slows. An awful burning sensation in my stomach works its way up to my throat.

"Prim," I gasp. _No_. I cut through the abandoned alley leading home, veer left past Haymitch Abernathy's shack. I register his pale, haggard face stuck to the inside of his front window. People dot the road in front of me, and I search the faces for my sister.

Deep slices pepper the dirt in front of our house. Mother's outside the door, her hand on the side of her head, curled in to herself...the way she was after Papa died.

Strong hands take my elbows. "Steady, Katniss." I vaguely register Gale's face above me. "Listen to me, they took Prim. She - she's gone." Not my Prim. No, they couldn't have. She's in the house, hiding under the bed.

"No," I say. I try to push him away, but he pulls me closer until my chin is propped up on his broad shoulder. I don't return the hug. His grip is meant to comfort, but I'm too snug to feel secure. I squeeze my eyes shut, conjuring up the wolf for help. In my mind's eye, it's bounding away from me. My body shakes as I take a breath.

"I'm so sorry." Gale lost his younger brother Rory during the last reaping.

"Let me go," I murmur into his shirt. The train hasn't left. There's still time.

"Katniss...it's no good. You can't – "

I won't listen. Somehow I get out of his arms. Somehow I'm running to the track. I hear another woman crying, yelling obscenities at the train. The cars gleam with the sun's reflection as the wheels begin to turn, carrying my sister away from me. The last car's door is open as it passes. Crane stands just inside, eyes trained on the town. He looks like he did five years ago, not a day over thirty. His hard, angular features absorb me and for a moment, the impassive blue eyes soften. I've seen that look before, when he took other children. He sympathizes, but not enough to release Prim.

"You bastard." I choke on my tears, snatching up a stone and hurling it at the last car. "How could you do this?" It bounces off the wall closest to Crane's head, making him step back and the door slide shut. I scramble up the slope and onto the track, watching the train gain speed. Soon, nothing is left to see but the darkness of the trees into which it's vanished.

x

I don't know how long I stand there. I'm on my knees at some point, screaming and clawing at the planks of wood which make up the track. Someone, I assume it's Gale again, tries to pick me up, but I shout at him to go. I think of my mother. She could have gone off and killed herself for all I know. I don't care. Prim is gone. I should have stayed here, made sure she was inside as soon as we heard that damned whistle. Instead I chased something I know I won't ever see.

But it won't be the same with Prim. It can't be. I won't allow it. This has gone on for too long. I know what I must do, and do alone. For Prim, for every other child lost. I've got to bring her back.

Evening is fast approaching when I pick myself up. I stride down the quiet road, lit by candlelight or gas lamps from inside the houses. Gale is in my house, at the hearth and cooking something muddy brown in the pot. He's not a cook and neither am I, but I know that whatever it is is burning. He starts at my arrival, but I drift past him. Gale's mother is tending to mine in our bedroom, dressing her arms and forehead with damp cloths. They hardly notice me.

I go to the splintery maple bureau in the corner which holds all our clothes. The first drawer I open is Prim's, and I instinctively lift her folded cotton blouse to my nose. It smells of lavender and sage, herbs Mother uses in her various concoctions. The familiar wave of tears pricks my eyes and I blink them away. "Don't cry," I whisper. There is no time for that. I search my drawer for the clothes I haven't worn in years. _Success_. The trousers and leather jacket are tucked under a tangle of dresses.

I change in the adjoining washroom, scrubbing the dried tears from my face until my cheeks are raw. One of Mother's salves would clear them up in a day, but I can't afford to wait. I fix my braid as best I can and slip into Papa's clothes. A perfect fit. Mother helped me tailor them a few years ago.

The next few minutes blur together: kissing my mother's forehead and vowing that I'll come back soon; Gale and Hazelle's's confused glances; taking Papa's bow from its place above the hearth, feeling the hard smoothness of its curve; counting the gold-tipped arrows Papa fashioned himself and holstering everything in a quiver around my shoulder; going out the door and down the road to the dark shack, to the sole escapee of Snow's estate. He will know the way, and he will help me, even if I have to force him to.

I knock on the door for what seems like hours, yelling his name. Before I can gather enough strength to kick it down, I sense movement behind the walls. Finally, the door creaks open and I'm greeted with a stench that stings my eyes worse than tears.

"_Well_," Haymitch says through a belch, looking me up and down. I square my shoulders, making a fist around the bowstring. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

x

x

x

More of Katniss' wolf in the next chapter! Thanks for reading.


	3. The Woods

**A/N**: Hey all, thanks for the reviews and hits...wow! If only there were as many comments as there were views. ;-)

Apologies for the delay in posting this.

Chapter 2

_The Woods_

"I need you to tell me how to get to Snow."

Haymitch sways in his spot, blinking at me with eyes that shine like fish scales. My body buzzes with impatience, ready to gather information and push forward. "Pardon?" he says quietly.

"Snow," I repeat on a gag. "Please tell me how you escaped Snow." Haymitch purses his lips and smacks them together. The Sae brothers keep him stocked with ale brewed from their underground distillery by the river. Goodness knows what he offers them in return, seeing as he hardly contributes anything to Seam.

"How 'bout no?" he says and gives an exaggerated wave for me to leave. I thrust my arm against the door before he can slam it. I've listened to his drunken rants before. Usually all he wants to do is talk about Snow and poisonous roses and magical birds. During one of his rambles to Prim and me, he mentioned getting lost in the woods and how the trees "changed" after he took a wrong turn. "They've got a way of deceiving you," he said, a crazed, far-off look in his eyes. "One minute you're in one place, and the next..." He was lost for a day and a half until he found his way back to Seam. I'm well aware he's drunk now, but if I could get something else out of him, some sort of direction.

"He took my sister today," I say, my voice cracking on the last word. "You know where she is."

He sighs, massaging his temples. "S-s-sorry about your sister, kid, I really am, but there's no way in hell you're getting her back."

I feel my jaw tighten. "I don't need to be told what I can or cannot do."

Haymitch snorts as his stained fingers pry mine from the door. "Oh, I'm sure you _think _you can do anything. Walk right up to Snow, put an arrow through his head and free your sister. S-s-so easy, right?" He wheezes a laugh and stumbles into the darkness of the hut. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, do you? It's better to go home and forget all about her."

My heart constricts and my palms go cold. "Forget? I can't – "

Haymitch lurches forward and grabs my arm, squeezing gently. It's a nice gesture, but I think he's just trying to balance himself. His grip tightens as I try to shrug him off. He draws close, keeping me still, and his greasy whiskers brush my cheek. I'm about to vomit when a large, calloused hand comes down on Haymitch's shoulder and shoves him backward against the doorframe. This is the third time Gale has intervened today.

"Don't touch her again," Gale says over Haymitch's cursing. His tone sends an unpleasant shiver down my spine. I'm not his to protect.

"Gale," I say. Did I ask him to defend me? His presence alone makes me realize he doesn't think I can handle this on my own. I pull at his arm but he doesn't respond. I remember Gale after Rory was taken, how he picked a fight with anyone who pitied him. That was how he coped. It seems I've taken Rory's place; anyone who touches me will suffer at Gale's hands.

"Don't _ever_ touch her," Gale presses, towering over the man slopped in his doorway.

"You should learn to keep him on a sh-sh-shorter leash," Haymitch says to me. Then to Gale: "Whaddya goin' to do, Carpenter Hawthorne, saw me in half? I was only telling Everdeen here," Haymitch rises like a child learning to walk and dusts off his soiled pants, "that she best accept her sister's as good as dead."

_Dead_. The word drops like a stone into the pit of my stomach.

_Dead. _

Detached, lifeless, final. The word Mother woke me up with on that frosty September morning: "Your father is dead." I thought I was dreaming. Prim was on her cot beside me, still asleep, the sunlight haloed around her head. She did not mourn Papa's death. There was too much life in her to waste hiding inside and pretending he was still alive. She was the reason I didn't sink into the depression Mother suffered, the reason I won't surrender now. A world without Prim, her spark extinguished so easily? It is unthinkable.

"That's enough," Gale rumbles.

An arrow is holstered in my bow and aimed at Haymitch's left eye before I can think twice. The bowstring is pulled back to my chest, taut between my index and middle fingers. This position feels right. I wish my breaths were as steady, but the image of Prim's grave is too vivid for my mind to rest. Haymitch and Gale both start.

"Don't move," I bark as I brush my eyes over my knuckles and leave damp trails of tears. He's a liar. Prim's not dead, not yet. "These arrows never miss where they're meant to go." Papa used to boast about the origins of his bow and arrows, how they were wrought from an enchanted maple and pieces of gold he dug up in the mines. He told me he could will the arrow to strike a certain target. As I grew, I learned it took more than just magic to make a successful shot. Though skill was a necessity, I found in my early hunts without Papa that I never once shot a squirrel anywhere but through the eyes.

"He's not worth it, Katniss," Gale keeps saying, but his voice actually strengthens my resolve. He must see the rage in my eyes to stay out of the way.

"Tell me," I order Haymitch. "Tell me where Prim is, or so help me, I will shoot you."

"Will you now?" he asks, sidling closer to the arrow trained on his eye.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to," I say through gritted teeth. My fingers are beginning to tremble from exertion, and I don't know how long I'll be able to delay the arrow's release.

"Tell _me_, Katniss," Haymitch begins, "do you know what happens to the children reaped every year?" His stare penetrates. Everyone knows the tales told of Snow's dark magic, his hybrids turned slaves. I like to believe it's all idle gossip and the children don't suffer lifelong servitude, though a part of me wonders if there's some truth behind the rumors. I try not to think about it too much, for sanity's sake.

"No," I whisper against the back of my hand. The skin over my knuckles gleams white.

"Do _you_, Hawthorne?" Haymitch says. I risk a glance at Gale's face in the darkness. He remains impassive. "They're cut up," Haymitch says, his mouth set in a grim line. His shoulder twitches, a physical manifestation of the memories he's dredging up. "Mutilated, turned _unnatural_." His stare flickers to Gale, who I can only assume is thinking about Rory. My face is numb, my body too. Haymitch continues in a heated rant, describing atrocities Prim – sweet, innocent Prim who still believes in happy endings and knights in shining armor – is privy to. Nausea curls in my stomach and my vision blurs. "S-s-some of the younger ones, the louder of the lot, have their tongues cut out." His eyes dart from me to Gale to a place past our shoulders.

I struggle to find words and feel my tongue trapped between my teeth. I remember Rory had a big, booming voice, one which prevented him from speaking in any volume lower than a whisper during lessons. The worst punishment he ever received was a rod to the knuckles. Did he lose his tongue too?

"One girl offed herself with night lock after a visit to Snow's quarters. That's how most escaped," Haymitch says, his eyes wide and blank like he's reliving seeing people die. Night lock, or "the devil's berry" as most like to call it, is often mistaken for blueberries. Mixed with other herbs, it can soothe sore throats, upset stomachs, cuts, and burns. Eaten by itself, it is fatal. The forest is overrun by night lock bushes, another reason why people avoid exploring it.

"Stop," Gale says in a thick voice. I understand his torment, but Haymitch has worked himself into a fervor – what are a few more horrific details?

"How did you escape?" I croak.

"Dumb... luck," Haymitch says, belching again. He's coming out of the memory, I notice the exhausted slump of his body. "And a knife swiped from the scullery."

"But how? Where did you run?" I persist. Haymitch raises an eyebrow.

"Though' by now you'd have that one figured out, sweetheart," Haymitch says. "Wha's the only way you know of?"

"The railroad," Gale offers. The railroad, of course. The most obvious, albeit dangerous path. I can't help but exhale a sigh of relief at the glimmer of hope. Haymitch applauds Gale with slow, mocking claps. I want to ask if he knows any routes around Snow's estate that I can take without getting caught, but he eventually stops clapping and holds his head.

"W-w-woods trus' no'," Haymitch slurs before he regurgitates the ale he drank earlier and collapses in a heap in front of us, effectively ending the conversation.

x

Gale and I walk in stunned silence. His hand is simultaneously rough and slippery against mine, and I grimace at the sensation.

"Knowing what you do now, are you still – ?" he says softly.

I won't let him finish the question. "Yes." If he knew me as well as he likes to think, he wouldn't have asked me that. "If anything, it gives me more incentive to go."

Gale stops us in the middle of the road, turning to face me fully. I tilt my head to look into the somber gray eyes which match mine. Many of the townspeople share the same features, an indication of our isolation. No one new has come to Seam in quite a while.

With his free hand, he cups my left cheek, thumbing the side of my head. I've become accustomed to Gale's caresses, and I hope no one else is awake to see. Couples don't usually touch this intimately in public, though we are still considered a non-couple. That's even more scandalous. No secret, if it can even be called that, stays hidden for long in Seam; someone's business always becomes everyone's business. Our secret is that there isn't one. I don't love Gale.

"Snow killed Haymitch's spirit. He'll kill yours too, if you let him," Gale says.

"That won't happen," I say.

"You don't know that," Gale whispers, his thumb tracing relentless circles into my temple. I remember the little flutters which used to tickle my insides when he touched me like this, when I thought I might have loved him. I lay my hand over his to still his fingers, but all he does is give me a sad smile. "I don't want to lose you." Another girl would swoon at those words, and perhaps I would too, if I felt more for Gale. Yet I've seen what love, the romantic, destructive kind, can do to a person, and I don't want any part of it.

"What if Posy's reaped next year?" Gale's palm tenses on my cheek, and he chews on his lower lip. "Wouldn't you do everything in your power to save her?" His hesitation is enough of an answer. That's why I can't marry Gale, regardless of how much he pursues some semblance of a relationship. Every girl thinks him the perfect match, and he may very well be... for them. I won't marry him when he refuses to question the injustices of the reaping. His seemingly bold nature falters when it comes to matters outside Seam, and deep down, he's simply another villager too frightened to speak.

"I reckon some things are beyond our control," he says, turning towards the forest. "The risk is just too great, Katniss." I take a step back, feeling a little less certain. Can no one be on my side?

"But Prim..." If I leave now, perhaps I'll make it to the estate by dawn. Haymitch didn't say how long his journey was, but if I keep a steady pace I might get there sooner.

"You're not serious, are you?" Gale half-laughs, his fingers firm around my elbows as I turn to go. He says I need rest, and it's been a long day. It has, but the more I wait, the closer I am to losing Prim. "Please," he says, imploring me with his eyes. I don't fake the yawn which slips out, the sudden heaviness of my body as he puts an arm around my shoulder. I'll allow myself two hours to sleep, if I can sleep at all.

We walk to his family's cabin, the finest dwelling in Seam next to Sheriff Undersee's. You can't expect anything less from the town's woodsmith. It's larger than most houses, boasting a second floor loft for the boys. Gale offers his bed, but I opt for the sitting room off the kitchen, a small space with cushioned chairs and oak-paneled walls. It's the safest and most uncomfortable of the two, so I won't oversleep. Gale insists I wear one of his sweaters, since the house is so cold at night. I pull it on, inhaling the combined scents of pine sap and wood chips. They make my nose tingle. Every nerve is taut with apprehension as Gale frames my face in his hands again.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says. We both know he won't. For a brief moment I think he's going to kiss me, but he merely brushes his lips across my forehead, wishes me a tentative "good-night" and vanishes out the door. I hear him climb the steps to his loft, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he settles in. I curl up in the chair, shifting this way and that like a dog would in a new bed. The wool of Gale's sweater is hot and itchy on my throat, and I hope it'll keep me awake until dawn.

It's more difficult to stay awake in a dark room than I expected. The blackness presses in on me, forcing me to close my eyes and wish for light. And, as much as I fight it, my determination is nothing against sleep.

I dream that Prim is being chased by my wolf. I run after them, yelling to her it won't hurt her, but I can't form the words. My tongue is gone. The wolf is at Prim's heels – I feel the burn of its bites, and she's screaming, a terrifying sound which echoes and lodges itself into the deep recesses of my mind.

x

I don't know how long I've been walking. I slept longer than I should have, stealing out of Gale's house at first light. I didn't think to leave Gale's sweater behind. October is chilly in the early morning.

When I started out, the path was clear – the track cut clean through the woods. Now it twists and turns, charging up steep hills and along ravines. Snow's estate must be atop a mountain. The trees have begun to hug the track, their branches forming long, dark tunnels. Their denseness blots out the sun. The light which does reach through is a murky purple, the only indication that morning has long since ended. Evening will be coming soon, if it hasn't already, and I have no idea if I'm closer to Prim. My boots have blistered my heels and my legs ache. I've been jogging on and off for most of the day, anxiety forcing me to pick up the pace. My head and stomach pound from hunger and thirst, but I must push on.

Something is watching me.

I've felt its gaze since I scaled the first hill. As I reached the top, noises whispered through the brush to my right, and I scrambled for my bow. I envisioned the worst: mutated children, no doubt Snow's creation, waiting for an attack.

"Who's there?" I called out. As expected, no one answered. I could not see anything through the tangle of leaves, though hairs on the back of my neck rose – whatever was hiding was still there, still looking at me. I kept on, humming a lullaby Papa sang to Prim and me as children. It allayed my fears somewhat, but it didn't completely erase the threat behind me.

I pause for a moment, swallowing down a dry, bitter taste. My tongue is glued to the top of my mouth, and Gale's sweater is warm and damp with sweat. I need water. If not food, then definitely liquid. I was in such a rush this morning I neglected to visit the river and fill a canister. Another thing about these parts of the woods is the lack of wildlife. I haven't seen a squirrel or heard birdcalls. The silence, save for the wind, unnerves me. I look around, shivering at the close proximity of the trees. Beyond are purple and gray splotches of forest. It will be so simple for whatever has been following to reach out and grab me. I tremble despite the sweater's warmth, wondering if I should leave the track to search for a spring, until I hear it.

Trickling water. I spin towards the sound, stumbling off the track. Somewhere to the right, there is a stream or a river. If I cannot find the source within a considerable distance, I won't stray too far. I am not familiar with these woods, after all. I squeeze between two trunks, listening for the sound. It seems close. I look over my shoulder at the steel beams of the track as I step further into the forest. The evening gloom wraps around me like Gale's sweater, heavy and overwhelming, and I am lost. How far have I walked? The sound wanes and rises, like wind through leaves. I follow blindly, panting, trying to walk in a straight line. It's the only way I'll be able to find the track again.

The sound fades altogether, and silence creeps in like my panic. But...it should be here. I heard it.

"Dammit," I hiss, turning around in circles. Perhaps it was the thing that's been pursuing me. Perhaps it can imitate noises and lure people away from safety. This could be a trap for all I know.

My voice shrills back to me. I jump, clutching at my chest.

The chorus becomes frenzied, a dozen or so voices repeating the word. What sorcery is this? I'm so frightened I can hardly think. I grope for the arrows tucked into the quiver on my back, glancing up at the canopy above. I can't see anything, which fuels my terror. Is it the trees? An animal? With a yelp, I wheel around and run back to the track. The sound echoes after me, and I cover my ears to block out the rising pitch. The row of trees I squeezed through is gone. Vanished, like they were never there. I must have made a wrong turn.

The landscape of forest is dizzying. The track couldn't have just disappeared. It's just not possible. Fear grips my body and my breathing turns shallow. There's no way I'll find Prim now. I'll never see her or Seam or Mother. She'll be tortured to death and no one will be there to help her. "You're lost," I choke out, slumping against the trunk of an oak tree. I fold my knees up to my chin, forcing myself to sing Papa's lullaby. I can't remember the words. My mind refuses to process the song.

The voices above me begin to fade, and I shut my eyes, count to three. "One," I begin on a shaky exhale, "two."

Leaves rustle and I press myself to the trunk, hands fisted. There's no time to load my bow. I blink at the shadow in front of me, my feet sliding over pine needles to tuck under my legs. The watery blur is coming into focus...

My mind is slow to register, but my body shifts in its direction, my arms unraveling from around my knees. I cry out and my cry bounces back to me.

Three yards away stands the animal from my memory, its eyes as blue as they were four years ago. My wolf.

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**A/N**: This ended up being somewhat of a filler chapter, but things definitely pick up from here. I hope to have a new chapter by sometime next week.

P.S. Constructive criticism makes this gal happy, so have at it. :-) Thanks!


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